All This is Mine - Softcover

French, Ray

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0099455331 ISBN 13: 9780099455332

Publisher: Vintage Books, 2004

Synopsis

South Wales, 1968, and ten-year-old Liam is grappling with some big questions. Is he adopted? Is it true he'll live to be 108 if he drinks a glass of his own pee every day? Why does everyone laugh at his dad behind his back? The more he sees of the adult world, the less he understands. Until he makes friends with Marek.

Marek, the son of Polish immigrants, reveals that the Russians are planning to stage a coup and take over Wales, just like they did in Poland. Liam and Marek form the resistance and begin a desperate campaign of sabotage. Meanwhile, at home, Liam finds no matter how hard he tries, he just can't make this parents love each other. And what are the strange noises coming from the cellar in the middle of the night?

About this title

About the Author

Ray French was born in Newport, south Wales, to Irish parents. Since leaving university he has worked with people with disabilities, as a stagehand, labourer, cartoonist, archivist and in libraries. He now lives in Leeds, the Milan of the north, with his partner and their daughter.

From the Inside Flap

In Crindau, south Wales, in the 1960s, life can be hard. Especially if you are ten years old, are surrounded by Communists, and your father is losing his mind.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

‘He fancies himself, doesn’t he?’

Colin didn’t like the way the new boy was ignoring everyone. He was leaning against the wall, eating an apple, gazing up at a jet plane streaking through the thin white clouds.

‘He thinks he’s better than us.’

‘Maybe.’

I wasn’t sure. Still, he’d only started school that morning, he had no right acting so relaxed in our playground. He should have been hovering anxiously on the edge of our game, charging off to fetch the ball every time it went out of play, a big sucking up smile on his face when he rushed back to hand it over, slowly plucking up the courage to ask for a game.

The sides are even.

What if I go on the side that’s losing?

No, it’s too close, there’s only one goal in it.

We were stood around, waiting. Preece had kicked the ball over the wall into the street, then made Joe 90 go and get it. He was taking ages. Preece was fed up waiting. He started walking over to the new boy. I nudged Colin.

‘Look.’

He wasn’t even going to wait till after school, he was going to get him right there, in front of everyone. No hair, staring eyes. Heading straight for him. I held my breath. One of the teachers, Thommo, came round the corner, hands behind his back, whistling The Dam Busters. Preece heard him, turned round and slipped into the bogs for a fag instead. The new boy carried on eating his apple, no idea what a narrow escape he’d had. I could have given him a run down on who to keep in with and who to avoid, might even have offered him the chance to team up with Colin and me. But he didn’t seem bothered whether anyone liked him or not, so now he’d just have to find out how things worked in our school the hard way.

‘About time you spaz!’

Joe 90 was back with the ball. The game restarted with a throw in. Now Preece had gone for a fag, our side was one man down;the new boy could have had a game if he’d wanted, but he just carried on gazing up at the sky, eating his apple.

Marek, that was his name.

***

Preece barged into Marek on the way out of school.

‘Oi! Fucking watch where you’re going, you spaz.’

‘You bumped into me.’

Preece searched his face for signs of nerves, but Marek looked irritated, not scared. A crowd started gathering.

‘Don’t you know who I am?’

‘No.’

Everyone was supposed to have heard of Preece. He shoved his face into Marek’s.

‘You soon will.’

There was some pushing as kids jostled for position, eager not to miss anything.

Marek turned to go, Preece stepped in front of him, pointed to the patch sewn onto his anorak. A white eagle on a red background.

‘What’s that?’

‘The Polish flag.’

‘It’s shit.’

I watched the anger flare up in Marek’s eyes, then him struggling to gain control of it.

‘Excuse me.’

Preece let him past, a sneer on his face. He started making the chicken noise, but Marek didn’t turn round. Preece walked over to his mates and grinned. He wasn’t in any hurry.

***

Colin couldn’t see it.

‘He isn’t chicken.’

‘Oh yeah, then why didn’t he fight him?’

That was a laugh. Colin would have run a mile.

‘I don’t know… but it wasn’t because he was scared of him. It was something else.’

‘Ha!’

‘Ha!’ I shouted back, louder. He was getting on my nerves. We walked the rest of the way to the railway crossing in silence. The sun glinted off the rails. My favourite smell, burning tar, drifted past on the breeze.

‘Why are you taking his side?’

‘Why are you taking Preece’s?’

He hesitated, picked up a stone, threw it at a rusting tin.

‘He’s alright.’

‘He’s a bastard.’

He wouldn’t look at me. I said it again, louder this time.

‘Preece is a bastard. Isn’t he?’

He finally turned and looked at me.

‘Yeah, he is.’

‘What was that? I didn’t hear you.’

‘He’s a bastard.’

I jumped in front, stood in his way.

‘Who’s a bastard?’

‘Preece is.’

‘Then tell him, like this.’

I threw back my head, made a loud hailer with my hands.

‘PREECE – YOU’RE A BASTARD. A BLOODY BAAAA –STAAARD!’

‘Oi you. Watch your language.’

An old man stood on his doorstep, pointing at us. He looked a right miserable old git. I ran across the road, shouting.

‘BASTARD! BASTARD! BASTARD!’

He was shouting something back at me, but I kept on running. I didn’t slow down till I was out of sight. When Colin caught up I put my arm around his shoulder.

‘Silly old bugger.’

‘Yeah, sod him.’

We turned down our street. I took my arm away, in case anyone saw us and thought we were a couple of nancies.

***

Monday was boiled bacon and cabbage. Clouds of steam rolled across the kitchen as mam drained the saucepans. I lay the knives and forks on the table, then sat down next to Michael, the spaz. Dad came in the back door.

‘I’m home. The working man is ready for his grub.’

He bent down to take off his bicycle clips, then went into the bathroom. Mam served the dinner. Slabs of thick, sweaty bacon, a pile of steaming spuds, dark green water oozing from the cabbage. Michael began to look queasy. Mam sat down, wiped the sweat from her forehead, blew out her cheeks.

‘Oh god I’m killed. I wish your father would eat a salad in the week.’

Salads were for Sundays – corned beef, lettuce, tomatoes, pickled onions and salad cream or brown sauce. Dad came back from the bathroom, covered his chair with yesterday’s paper so he wouldn’t stain it with his working clothes, then beat it flat with his hand.

‘Now then…’

Mam handed him his cup of cabbage water. He slurped it down. Michael pulled a face.

I put my head down, started shovelling it all in as quickly as I could.

‘For god’s sake Liam, it’s not a race.’

The only way to get through a plate of boiled bacon and cabbage was to pretend you were a robot imitating a human, and that you couldn’t really taste anything. There was only one thing worse – crubeens;pigs’ trotters. Dad ate them cold, with a glass of buttermilk and some soda bread.

‘I’ve finished.’

‘You’ll give yourself indigestion.’

‘Leave him be’ said Dad, ‘At least he likes his grub, not like the other fella.’

Michael was still nervously cutting his first slice of bacon.

‘Can I leave the table please?’

I rushed to the toilet, locked the door behind me, lifted the seat. Stuck my fingers down my throat. My dinner came out like a flood. I flushed the toilet twice, washed my hands and face, drank some water from the tap. When I went back into the kitchen Michael was trying to force a tiny piece of soggy cabbage into his mouth. He’d be there all night

‘Can I go and see Colin now?’

‘All right.’

His house was only a few doors away. I ran down the back lane, knocked on their door.

‘Hi-ya.’

‘Hi-ya Liam, come in.’

They were having pie and chips from the chippie. Colin’s mam smiled, said ‘There’s some chips left, they always give you too much at Alonzis.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Help yourself to bread and butter.’

I took a couple of slices from the plate in the middle of the table, some chips from the bag on top of the cooker, made myself a butty.

‘Don’t they feed you at home?’ said Colin’s dad.

He always said that. I ate the butty leaning against the cooker. They got their dinner from the chippie three or four times a week. At the weekend they ate their dinner sitting in front of the telly. I’d have loved that.

***

Everyone knew what was coming. When Marek walked through the gate at the end of the day and saw the crowd waiting, he knew too, he must have, even though he looked as though his mind was somewhere else. Preece walked right up to him, blocking his way.

‘My dad says Poland is a commie country.’

He pushed Marek in the chest.

‘Commie.’

Marek went rigid.

‘Take it back.’

‘What?’

Preece was acting dumb, taking his time, getting his own back on Marek for not knowing who he was, for not being frightened of him.

‘Take it back I said.’

He started to shout.

‘I’m no communist.’

‘Are you calling my dad a liar?’

‘Yes.’

Preece’s head snapped forward. Marek’s legs buckled, he staggered backwards, eyes wide with pain and bewilderment. It wasn’t fair, Preece hadn’t given any warning.

‘Cheating!’

One of Preece’s mates pointed at me, shouted ‘Shut your face Bennett.’

Marek slumped against the wall, put his hands out to steady himself. Preece stayed where he was, gloating, waiting to see if he’d recover. The crowd tightened around them.

‘Go on Preecey, get him.’

Marek shook his head, straightened up, brought his fists up in front of his face. Preece sneered, closed in. He had to get away from the wal...

Edition details

• Publisher: Vintage Books
• Publication date: 2004
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 0099455331
• ISBN 13: 9780099455332
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 224